such expressions and use them himself," says
she.

"Yes, he picks up a lot," says I. "He's clever that way. Aren't you, you
young tarrier?"

"Whe-e-e!" says 'Ikky-boy, slidin' off my knee to make a dive at Buddy
and roll him on the floor.

"One should speak gently to a child," says Auntie, "and use only the
best English."

"I might be polite to him," says I, "if he'd be polite to me, but that
don't seem to be his line."

Auntie shrugs her shoulders and gives us up as hopeless. We're in bad
with her, both of us, and I expect if there'd been a lawyer handy she'd
revised her will on the spot. Honest, it's lucky the times she's decided
to cross me off as one of her heirs don't show on me anywhere or I'd be
notched up like a yardstick, and if I'd done any worryin' over these
spells of hers I'd be an albino from the ears up. But when she starts
castin' the cold eye at Richard Hemmingway I almost works up that guilty
feelin' and wonders if maybe I ain't some to blame.

"You ain't overlookin, the fact, are you, Auntie," I suggests, "that
he's about 100 per cent. boy? He's full of pep and jump and go, same as
Buddy, and he's just naturally got to let it out."

"I fail to see," says Auntie, "how teaching him to use slang is at all
necessary. As you know, that is something of which I distinctly
disapprove."

"Now that you remind me," says I, "seems I have heard you say something
of the kind before. And take it from me I'm going to make a stab at
trainin' him different. Right now. Richard, approach your father."

'Ikky-boy lets loose of Buddy's collar and stares at me impish.

"Young man," says I severe, "I want you to lay off that slang stuff.
Ditch it. It ain't lady like or refined. And in future when you converse
with your parents see that you do it respectful and proper. Get me?"

At which 'Ikky-boy looks bored. "Whee!" he remarks boisterous, makin' a
grab for Buddy's stubby tail and missin' it.

"Perfectly absurd!" snorts Auntie, retirin' haughty to the bay window.

"Disqualified!" says I, under my breath. "Might as well go the limit,
Snoodlekins. We'll have to grow up in our own crude way."

That was the state of affairs when this Mrs. Proctor Butt comes crashin'
in on the scene of our strained domestic relations. Trust her to appear
at just the wrong time. Mrs. Buttinski I call her, and she lives up to
the name.

She's a dumpy built blond party, Mrs. Proctor Butt, with projectin'
front teeth, bulgy blue e